Child's Play in The Loud House
by Flagg1991
Summary: When Mr. Coconuts is broken, Luan buys a new doll for her act: His name is Chucky, and he might just be alive...cover by Raganoxer.
1. Thrift Store Find

**For those of you asking for another horror story, here it is. There is no romance, sex, lust, love, shipping, dry humping, or incest, just Chucky, the Loud family, and good old fashion scares.**

Luan Loud was in trouble: Her dummy, Mr. Coconuts, was DOA and she needed a doll; she was going to record and upload a skit to her website, and she needed a wingman. So, on a blustery October afternoon, she walked into town, a wool scarf wound tightly around her neck, and went shopping. Royal Woods is not a big town, but if there's one thing it had a lot of, it was antique shops. She didn't know why, and she really didn't care; she was sure to find a dummy in one of them.

She struck out at the first two she tried. The closest was a chewed up Raggedy Andy priced to sit-on-the-shelf at twenty dollars. The third had some old porclin dolls, but those were creepy; they reminded her of dead children, their eyes open and staring sightlessly into the void.

At the third, she found a puppet in a tux, but he was fifty bucks. Wow. She was just about to leave when she noticed another doll sitting on a shelf near the door to the storeroom. She walked over, reached up, and took it down. It was dressed in overalls and red high tops; its hair was red; its eyes were blue. It had a pull-string. She yanked it, and it spoke...

" _Hi, I'm Chucky, wanna play?"_

Hm. He _was_ kind of cute, and the price tag stuck to the bottom of his foot said he was only ten bucks. Now _that_ she could do.

"Do you know any good jokes, Chucky?" she asked.

She pulled the string.

" _I only cost a couple of_ doll _ars."_

Luan blinked. While it was a good pun, it was a little strange that the doll should comment on how much it cost. Then again, the manufacturers probably slipped that in as a joke. When this bad boy was new (eighties? He looked like he was from the eighties), he probably cost a lot more than a couple of dollars.

Then again, maybe he was alive.

She laughed nervously. She _did_ need a doll though. "Alright, Chucky, you can come with me. But no funny business until we go on air, got it?"

She pulled the cord again. _"I like puppies and cookies and playing with my toys."_

"Hey, me too."

Tucking him under her arm, she went to the counter and waited to be served. She was just about to call out when an old man in glasses shuffled to the counter. "Hi there, miss. Can I help you?"

"I want to buy this doll with these _doll_ ars," she said, taking out a wad of ones.

The old man chuckled. "You're pretty funny." She sat Chucky on the counter, and the old man's eyes widened. "Oh. You're buying this one?"

"Yup," she said. "I'm going to use him for my act."

"Ah," the man said. He took her money and stuck it into the register. Luan did not notice that his eyes never left the doll, or that he moved slowly, cautiously, the way one would around a snake or venomous spider.

"Thank you," she chirped. She scooped Chucky up and left. "I hope you like puns," the old man heard her say, "because I crack at least _pun_ a day."

When she was gone, the old man craned his neck, and saw her disappear around a corner.

He shouldn't have sold her that damn doll.

Fred Meyers was a practical man. He served in Vietnam and never believed in anything he couldn't touch. God, ghosts, and spirits were things he could not touch, had never seen, and had absolutely no reason to believe in. But that doll...there was something wrong with it.

It had been in the shop for six months. An old woman brought it in and said she found it in her granddaughter's room: The mother and granddaughter had been killed in a home invasion, she explained, and the police never caught the guy who did it. Chucky came with other toys, and Fred had no reason to take special notice of him. Then, things started to happen. He would set the doll down, only to come back and find it somewhere else. Sometimes, when he was in late, he would hear the tiny patter of footprints, and go to investigate, only the find the place empty and the doll sitting in the middle of the floor, watching him with those pale blue eyes. Stuff started going missing. He'd be nodding behind the counter, and hear a door opening and closing. Once, just once, he swore he saw it move from the corner of his eye.

He wanted to get rid of it, but he was terrified that if he tried, he'd wake with it sitting on his chest, a knife in its hand. _"I'm Chucky, and I want to kill."_

Presently, he shivered. God, he shouldn't have sold that damn thing. He considered going out into the street and finding the girl, but what stopped him was the knowledge that she'd think he was a lunatic. The time for playing hero was passed. He could have told her it wasn't for sale, could have told her it belonged to a fictious grandkid who accidentally left it behind...or he could have told her the truth and scared her away. But he didn't...because a part of him _wanted_ the damn thing gone. It _wanted_ it to be someone else's problem, because if it was someone else's problem, it wasn't his. He wouldn't have to watch the damn thing like you'd watch a coiled cobra, he wouldn't have to worry that it would come for him in the night, he wouldn't have to look at its face and wonder if it was watching him, silently hating him. So what if it was a little girl? Better her than him.

Only that wasn't right. It was terrible.

Breaking, he left the store and went around the corner, the bitter October cold nipping at his bare arms. There were people walking along the sidewalks, but none of them were the girl.

 _What have I done?_ He asked himself sadly. _What have I done?_


	2. Creepy

Luan arrived home twenty-five minutes after leaving the store: Her cheeks were red and numb from the crisp autumn air, and her feet were starting to ache. When she came through the front door, Lori and Leni were watching a daytime soap opera. Both turned as she shut the door behind her. "The show must go on," Luan said, and held up her new doll. "Meet Chucky, he's going to be standing in for Mr. Coconuts."

"Hi, Chucky," Leni said, waving.

"Ooo, he's creepy," Lori said, wrinkling her nose.

Luan turned him around and looked at him. Red hair, freckled face, blue eyes. "Kind of, but he's not so bad when you get used to him." She pulled Chucky's string.

" _I'm Chucky, and I want to play."_

"He's cute," Leni said.

Lori shook her head and looked away. "Creepy."

Luan shrugged. Lori's opinion didn't matter because Lori didn't subscribe to her website. Her followers would _love_ Chucky. He had such potential.

At the top of the stairs, Lincoln appeared. "Say hi to Chucky!" she said, shoving the doll into his face. He let out a tiny cry and jumped back, which made her laugh. "Don't go _doll_ loopy on me, Linc; he's part of my act."

"T-That thing?" Lincoln asked.

"Yep. He's Mr. Coconut's replacement."

"He's kind of...I don't know...creepy?"

Luan sighed. "Lori said the same thing. He's not _that_ bad. Sheesh."

In her room, she shut the door and sat on her bed. She held Chucky up. " _I_ don't think you're creepy. At least not much." She sat him down and looked at him. "I think you'd look good as a mime."

She got up, crossed the room, and opened her top drawer, where she kept her socks, underwear, and puppet clothes. She selected a black pair of pants and a black and white striped shirt. She sat on the bed, picked Chucky up, and undressed him, taking his shoes off then his overalls. He was wearing a little pair of whitey tighties. His crotch bulged. She pulled them down, and gasped.

"Oh, boy."

Chucky's genitalia was rendered in painstaking realism: Little penis, little testicles, red pubic hair. Luan blushed, then pulled his underwear back up. "I'm sorry, Chucky. I didn't think you'd be so, uh...yeah."

She put the pants on him, then the shirt. They fit perfectly. "There you go," she said, "and in no _mime_ at all." She chuckled. "Now, let's rehearse."

They went through the act three times. At one point, Luna came in to grab her radio, and noticed Luan's new friend. "Righteous little dude," she said, "where'd you get him?"

"The junk shop," Luan said.

"Cool."

She came over and knelt down. "What's your name, dude?"

Luan pulled the cord. _"I'm Chucky and I want to play."_

"Guitar or drums?"

"I don't think he means that kind of play."

Luna shrugged. "You never know. He might be a killer bassist."

"Well, when we're done you can try him out, okay?"

"Sounds good."

After Luna left, Luan locked the door, opened up her laptop, and recorded her skit. When it was over, she went back and watched it to make sure it was ready for primetime.

It was.

She uploaded it to her site, and was just finishing up when Lucy popped her head in the door. "It's dinnerti..." she trailed off. "What's that?"

"What's what?" Luan asked.

"That doll."

"Oh, that's Chucky. He's new."

Lucy opened her mouth again, but closed it. There was something familiar about that doll, like she had seen it somewhere before. And that name...Chucky...she couldn't place it, but her stomach was suddenly heavy with dread.

"Dinner's ready," she said, and got out of there as fast as she could. Scratching her head at her sister's strange behavior (stranger than usual, at least), Luan got up and followed, closing the door behind her. Boy, was she hungry.

Alone in her room, Chucky sat in the middle of her bed, a smile fixed to his face, his eyes wide and staring. After a moment, he blinked, then shook his head, his expression going from manically happy to dark. He looked down at what he was wearing. "What is this shit?" he asked, his voice deep and gravelly. He got up, jumped off the bed, and crossed to the dresser, which he climbed. Standing in front of the mirror, he gasped. "That fucking _bitch_ ," he growled. He didn't like his normal attire, but this was crazy.

Sighing, Chucky jumped down and went to the door, which hadn't closed all the way. He pulled it open a crack and stuck his head out. The hall was empty. The sounds of talking and laughter drifted up the stairs.

He stayed where he was for a moment, listening.

Once, long ago, he had been a man. Charles Lee Ray. He was famous in Chicago as The Lakeshore Strangler; that was before he was shot and transferred his body into the doll with voodoo. His plan was to transfer back into a human body as soon as he could, but his previous attempts had been foiled; admittedly due to his temper. It was hard sitting still and smiling when everyone around you was a fucking asshole just _begging_ for it. This time, though, he would play nice. And he had the perfect residence in mind.

That little white haired faggot.

Chucky _could_ theoretically possess one of the girls (how goddamn many were there, anyway? He'd counted at least four aside from that skank Luan), but fuck that. He wanted some meat on his bone.

He had to play it cool. He went back over to the bed, climbed on, and sat down. It was hard being a good guy, though. He wanted to kill. He _needed_ to kill. When he was a man, he never went more than three days between murders. After a while, he got used to it, he got to the point where anything less made him antsy.

In the end, though, it would be worth it.

He could do this.

From blow, Luan's voice drifted to him. "Why don't cannibals eat clowns? Because they taste funny!"

He sighed.

Maybe.


	3. The Amulet

After dinner, Luan went to her room, and started when she saw Chucky sitting on her bed. Her hand flew to her chest. She'd forgotten all about him. "Say, Chuck, why don't cannibals eat clowns?"

She waited.

"Because they taste funny!" She slapped her knee and laughed. "I love that one. Here's another: What has four wheels and flies? A garbage truck! Enough _trashy_ jokes. Want to do some ventriloquism?"

She sat down and pulled Chucky's cord.

" _Puns are not funny,"_ he piped.

She jerked and almost dropped him. She turned him over and looked into his eyes. They were wide and staring. Dead. Not alive. Still, something like fear passed close by. This was the second time he had commented on a topic at hand. The first time might be coincidence, but two was...what?

She laughed nervously. Nothing. It was nothing. He was just a doll and _happened_ to not like puns.

"I think puns are hilarious," she said, and pulled the cord.

" _We'll be friends to the end."_

"Now _that's_ more like it," she said. She sat Chucky on her knee. "Say, Chuck, did you hear about the old man who lost his dry cleaning business? He was _all washed up_!"

She laughed until tears rolled down her cheeks. Oh, man, she was on _fire_ tonight. "Poor guy was hung out to dry, then got three sheets to the wind."

Her eyes were closed as she laughed; she did not see Chucky blink and look at her, a sneer on his face. _I'm getting real sick of your shit, bitch._

"I don't know if that's truth or _spin_ , but it's what I heard!"

She sat Chucky down and got up. "I gotta use the bathroom, so I'll give it a _rest_." She left the room, still laughing.

 _You fucking slut, I'll kill you!_

Chucky looked around the room for a weapon. He saw the laptop, a pencil on the nightstand, an alarm clock with a cord. Tonight, he thought, after he transferred his soul to the boy, he'd come in here and make her eat those fucking puns. _Here's one that'll make you_ choke up _._

He faced forward and smiled again just as the one with the short hair came in. She saw him and stopped. "You're kind of weirding me out, dude." She walked over and bent down. "Do you like grass? I got some killer herb in my sock drawer if you wanna burn one later."

She patted him on the head and went over to her bed, where she sat. "Just let me know, little dude." She slipped on a pair of headphones and laid down.

 _I'll kill you too._

He tried to push the dark thoughts away. This was a happy occasion. Once these bimbos were asleep, he'd grab the amulet of Shango from his overalls, call upon the dark gods of the dead, and take the boy's body. Then...then he could _really_ have some fun.

To himself, he laughed. These assholes wouldn't know what hit them. And the best part: Their poor little brother would be trapped in his skull, watching as his hands strangled his sisters. Now _that_ was funny!

Presently, Luan came back, wearing a nightgown. She picked Chucky up and sat him on her dresser. "Sorry, but I'm now allowed to have boys in my bed overnight. It's my dad's rule. He's a real _dummy_."

She barked laughter in his face and climbed into bed, snapping the light off. Darkness filled the room; the only sound was the muffled music short hair was listening to. Sounded like Mick Fagger. Chucky _hated_ him.

For a long time, he sat there, staring into the night. Soon Luan was snoring. He couldn't tell about the other one. He was about to jump off when she sighed, rolled over, and snuggled into the bed. Come on. Go to sleep already.

An hour later, she was snoring too. Being careful, he jumped down from the dresser and toddled over to Luan's bed. Where did she put his shit? He got down on his knees and looked under the bed. There, in a pile. Thoughtless pig. He grabbed his overalls, pulled them out, and reached into the pocket.

The amulet wasn't there, and his stomach twisted. He crawled under the bed and felt around, but it wasn't there either.

The stupid fucking bitch lost it! That was his only way back and she lost it!

Seething, he stood up and went to the nightstand. Where's that goddamn pencil? He'd shove it through her fucking eye. He stopped when a memory struck him: Last night, the amulet fell from his pocket, and when he tried to get it, the old bastard came over, picked it up, and sat it on the shelf next to him.

He forgot to put it back in his pocket. It was still at the thrift shop.

" _Son of a bitch,"_ he growled. He ran his hands through his hair and started pacing. It was too late to go back for it. The old bastard would be gone. That meant he'd have to wait and go back during the day. Shit. That place was three fucking miles from here, and he couldn't exactly waltz down the street. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Anger coursed through him, and he kicked the nightstand. The alarm clock fell off and hit the floor. "Huuuuh?" Luan drew.

Damn it.

He fell to the ground and assumed his stupid smile. He heard rustling, then soft lamplight filled the room. "What are _you_ doing over here?" she asked and picked him up. She looked at his face, then the dresser, then shuddered. She got up, went to the closet, and tossed him in; his head clunked off an amplifier, and he landed in a corner. She shut the door.

 _You'll pay for that...you'll pay!_

In her bed, Luan struggled to get back to sleep, but couldn't. After a while, she turned the lamp back on and looked at the closet door. It was possible he had fallen from the dresser (Mr. Coconuts did from time to time), but there was no way in _hell_ he could have wound up by the nightstand. There was five feet between the two, if not more. A chill came over her. There was a logical explanation. She just didn't know what it was.

And not knowing scared her.


	4. Loose in the House

October 17 dawned dark and rainy. Lucy Loud hadn't slept very well; she had nightmares about a doll with red hair strangling her in her bed. She woke before 5, and sat up, trying to calm her shaky nerves. After a while, she pulled out her laptop and typed CHUCKY DOLL into Google, the feeling that she knew something but had forgotten growing stronger and stronger.

What she found disturbed her.

In 1988, several people were murdered in Chicago by "persons unknown." One of them was a criminal who practiced voodoo and had been linked to serial killer Charles Lee Ray, who strangled a dozen people before being shot by police in a toy store. One of the survivors, a woman, hysterically claimed that a "Good Guy" doll (a brand popular at the time) who claimed its name was Chucky (Good Guy dolls were not programed to have a name) tried to kill her and possess her son's body. She was locked in a mental institution where she later died, while her son was placed in foster care; two years later, his new family was butchered in their home.

The story was popular on macabre message boards, with people (somehow) surmising that Ray, a known devotee of the Voodoo religion, had transferred his soul into a Good Guy, and was trying to get back into living flesh. There was nothing official to support those claims other than two series of murders two years apart, the only link being a single little boy. Still, as Lucy read, a shiver went down her spine. A picture of a Good Guy (similar to "Chucky") came up. It had wild red hair, blue eyes, and freckles, just like Luan's Chucky. The one in the photo was wearing overalls and red sneakers, whereas Luan's was dressed as a mime.

Come to think of it, didn't Luan have outfits for her dolls? And wasn't one a mime costume?

When the other began to stir, Lucy got up, used the bathroom, and got dressed, then took up a station by her door. When Luan finally appeared, she stopped her. "Luan, can I ask you something?"

"What?" Luan asked sleepily.

"That doll you bought...what was he wearing?"

"What?"

"When you bought him...what was he wearing?"

"Overalls, why?"

"No reason," Lucy replied. Outside she was calm, but inside she was getting scared. She waited for the others to go downstairs. When she was sure she was alone and unobserved, she slipped into Luan's room and went to the dresser, where she was most likely to keep him.

He wasn't there.

She checked the bed, the nightstand, and even under both Luan and Luna's beds (her heart racing...certain that Chucky would fly out at her), but he was in none of those places.

"Lucy!" Lori called up the stairs. "Come _on!_ "

Damn.

Throwing one last look around the room, Lucy went back into the hall and shut the door. Downstairs, she ate her breakfast as though everything were normal. As she did, her mind worked. Where was he? Luan could have put him somewhere herself, but what if he was hiding on his own, lurking somewhere in the house?

Crazy, that sounded crazy, but the damn thing was calling itself Chucky just like the doll from the story. From what she read, Good Guys didn't have names. No "Hi, I'm Billy" or "I'm Tommy and I want to play." Of course, it was possible that someone with a macabre sense of humor had reprogrammed the doll, but she wouldn't know until she found it and had Lisa look at it.

That was the likeliest explanation. Had to be.

All that day, she wondered.

But in Luan's closet, the object of her worry sat up. The house had been quiet for ten minutes. No laughing, no squealing, no stupid jokes. It was peaceful.

Getting up, Chucky went to the door, climbed onto a amp lying on its side, and turned the knob. For a moment he stood in the doorway, listening. Then he crossed the room and went into the hall. At the top of the stairs, he listened again, but heard nothing. For now, at least, the place was empty, all the assholes having fucked off. In the kitchen, he took a knife from a butcher block and poked the point with his finger. Sharp. He smiled and tucked the knife into his overalls.

 _Knife to meet you...how's_ that _for a pun?_

In the living room, he looked at the many framed pictures on the wall. One over the fireplace depicted what he assumed was the entire family. He counted eleven kids, ten of them girls. "Holy shit," he said, " _someone's_ pull out game is weak." He went to an end table and picked up a photo of the boy, with his stupid white hair and snaggle teeth. "Your ass is mine, kid," he said. He put the picture back and went to the front window. Looking out, he saw a typical suburban street flanked by houses and trees.

How the hell was he going to get back to that store?

It was Monday. The old man usually stayed late on Monday to drink whiskey and take inventory. He left around eleven, unless he passed out at the counter or in the back room. It would be dark by six. If he could get out of here unseen, he could be there and back by midnight...with the amulet.

Chucky started for the stairs, but suddenly, someone was opening the front door. God _damn_ it. He dropped to the floor, and watched as a man in a green sweater came in, holding a baby in his arms; a cell phone was cradled between his shoulder and head. "Yeah, I just dropped them off," he said, sitting the baby down and walking into the kitchen. The baby sat in the middle of the floor for a minute, then turned and saw him, her eyes brightening. _No. Go away._

Instead, she crawled over and grabbed him by the hair, dragging him into her lap. "Fuck off, kid," he said, and the baby laughed and yanked his hair again. Anger rose in him. He reached out and pinched her arm. "I said fuck off and leave me alone."

The baby let him go and started to whimper. Papa came in from the kitchen, scooped her up, and carried her away. She watched him over his shoulder with watery eyes. Chucky flipped her off.

When he was sure he was not being watched, he rolled under the couch.

It was a long time before they left, and when he crawled out, he was fuming.

 _Fuck this family, fuck this family, fuck this family._

He was going to enjoy killing them.


	5. Mondays are Murder

Mondays were always hectic; first day back to school after the weekend and all. October 17 was especially busy, as Lynn had a football game after school. It wasn't until seven-thirty, after she had been home for nearly twenty minutes, that Luan thought of Chucky.

The night before, groggy with sleep, she threw him into the closet because he fell over and she got scared. What a boob! Poor Chuck, spent the whole night in the dark, alone. She was going to go get him, but dad ordered pizza (as a treat for Lynn winning, though he would have ordered it even if she lost), and there was no way in hell she was going to leave the living room and risk losing out; when you have ten siblings, you have to be _right there_ when dinner (especially something everyone liked like pizza) hit the table, ot you'd wind up having crumbs for dinner. Sometimes you had to _supper_ , but hey, it was worth it.

As she waited, she sat on the couch, her legs drawn up under her, and did her math homework. She _hated_ math. And science. Too much hard, logical thought. She was an artist. Artists aren't much for hard logical thought. Unless they were. She wasn't. She was getting better, though; she struggled, but usually came up with the right answer. Guess she wasn't _ADD_. When it came to math, she could really _divide_ and conquer; working with Lisa had really _multiplied_ her knowledge.

She laughed. She cracked herself up sometimes.

When the pizza arrived, she was the third one in the kitchen, behind Lola and Lana, and was assured at least two pieces. When dad opened the box, she leaned in, sniffed the air, and said, "Pie, pie, pie, what do we have here?"

Her sisters groaned while her father chuckled. At least _someone_ in this house appreciated her humor. When dinner was over, she finished her homework, then fought through a crowd in the bathroom to brush her teeth. In her night-gown and ready for bed, she went into her room, and suddenly remembered Chucky. Poor little guy: He spent the entire day in the closet.

She went to the door, opened it, and leaned in, "Hey, Chuck, how's it going? Sorry about last night. You kind of scared me." She reached into the corner where she'd seen him drop, but he wasn't there. Hm. She turned on the overhead light and swept the closet thoroughly.

He was nowhere.

"Luna?"

"Yeah?" Luna was lying in bed and staring at the ceiling; after dinner, or so Luan suspected, she went behind the garage and smoked a joint. She did that from time to time.

"Did you move Chucky?"

"Uhhhh...no. Haven't seen him."

Strange. Very strange.

Luan didn't like it.

* * *

Fred Meyers sat behind the register, reading the newspaper by soft lamplight. Outside, it was dark and rainy.

Today was Monday. Meyers stayed late on Mondays and did inventory; he also unpacked new donations and set product on the shelves. Sometimes he stayed as late as midnight or one in the morning. Tonight he was tired and planned to be out by no later than ten, even if everything wasn't done. Screw it. He didn't like doing inventory throughout the week, but sometimes, you had to do things you didn't like. It's called life.

He took a sip from the cup next to the register, and grimaced as the whiskey burned a trail down his throat and detonated in his stomach. He turned with page with a crisp snap, and started reading an article on North Korea when, in the back, something thumped against the floor, startling him. He smiled. Probably mice. The place was _full_ of them. Why, just today...

Something crashed to the floor; sounded like glass. Goddamn it. Sighing, Meyers folded his paper and got up. In the back, he found a vase lying in twinkling shards. He grabbed the broom and dust pan and started to sweep the mess up, but stopped when he heard the pitter-patter of little feet. His heart seized and he spun on his heels, dropping the broom.

Through the door to the back room, he had a clear view of the shop. Nothing moved. "Hello?

His heart was slamming; blood pounded in his temples. He started into the store, taking a switch blade from his pocket and flicking it open. "Who's there?"

He reached the front of the store and checked behind the counter. No one waited. He went to the door, made sure it was locked (it was), and turned around. The place was empty. He was alone.

Taking a deep breath, Meyers shook his head. Paranoid. He was being...

"Hey, asshole," a voice said, and Meyers jumped. "Over here."

He whipped his head to his left, and what he saw made him freeze: The doll...the fucking doll was standing by a book shelf. He was dressed differently, in black pants and a black and white striped shirt, but it was him alright: Same kinky red hair, same freckles, same cold blue eyes. He held something in his hands.

A harpoon gun.

"Yeah, you," the doll said, taking a step forward. The world spun, and Meyers felt his knees going weak. He tried to move, but he was petrified with terror. "I want my fucking amulet."

The doll came closer, and Meyers's legs gave out; he fell to the floor and scooted up against the door, his heart slamming so hard he thought he was having a heart attack.

Still, the doll advanced, aiming the harpoon. "I said I want my fucking amulet." The doll reached him and shoved the tip of the harpoon against his stomach. _"Now!"_

"Y-Y-Your what?" Meyers managed.

"My amulet. The thing that fell out of my pocket the other day. You picked it up and sat it next to me now it's gone. Where is it?"

Meyers wracked his brain; he couldn't remember anything through the fog of horror. "I-I don't know!"

"Don't play dumb with me, goddamn it! I want it _now_!"

Suddenly, Meyers remembered. "I put it away...in a box."

"Where?" the doll demanded.

"I-In the back."

The doll let out a deep breath. He stepped back and pointed the gun. "Go get it then."

Meyers got up.

"If you try anything you're dead, got it?" The doll jabbed the harpoon in Meyers' direction.

Holding his hands up, Meyers went into the back room, the doll behind him. His mind was beginning to race. If he could surprise the little bastard, he could get the upper hand. When that harpoon was out of the equation, he'd stand a chance.

"It's over here," Meyers said, going to a cardboard box on a folding table. "S-See?"

Carefully, he opened the box and reached in, never taking his eyes off the doll, with watched him with a sneer of hatred. He felt for something, his fingers closing on a piece of cold, circular metal. He glanced in, and saw that it was the amulet the doll was talking about: A metallic obelisk roughly the size of a sliver dollar on a long silver chain. There was a red stone in the center of the obelisk.

"I have it right here," Meyers said, deciding to make his move. He grabbed the chain, pulled the amulet out, and swung it all in one fluid motion. It struck the doll in the face, and he fell on his ass with a sharp cry.

Meyers sprang at the doll, but it was quick, turning with a scream of rage and thrusting a knife into his stomach: Hot agony filled him. He lashed out, striking the doll in the side of the head and knocking him back; the knife ripped out of Meyers' stomach, and he screamed as pain enveloped him. His legs gave out, and he sank to his knees.

The doll was getting to its feet and shaking its head. When it turned, its face was contorted with hatred, a trickle of blood running from its nose. "You son of a _bitch_ ," it said, picking the harpoon up. Meyers' eyes widened, and he struggled to his feet. "You fucking _shit_."

Meyers was staggering to the side door, which led into an alley, when the doll fired the harpoon: The spear sailed into his right leg, coming out the other side. Meyers screamed and went down on his good knee. The doll grabbed him by the back of his shirt and yanked, he toppled over. The doll, sneering, climbed onto his chest.

"Do you _realize_ how much that fucking hurt?" The doll brought the knife up, then flashed it down: The blade sank into Meyers' chest, and he screamed, only it came out as a bloody gurgle. _"Do you?"_ The doll pulled the knife out then brought it down again, and again, and again. Darkness touched the edge of Meyers' consciousness, and his brain grew fuzzy. One more blow, and he was done, drifting down into the dark chambers of death.

Wiping the blood from his nose, Chucky took a deep, shuddery breath. He got up, went over to the amulet, and picked it up. He had it. He fucking _had_ it. Now, all he needed to do was get back to the Loud house.


	6. Lucy Vs Chucky

Luan was just settling down for the night when Lucy stuck her head in the door. "Can I borrow Chucky for a little while?" she asked.

"Sorry, sis, Chucky's MIA."

"You don't know where he is?" Lucy asked evenly.

"No," Luan said, her voice lowering. "I threw him in the closet last night and when I went to get him he was gone." She shuddered. "It's actually kind of creepy."

"Why did you throw him in the closet?"

Luan shrugged.

"Luan."

"He fell off the dresser and scared me. That's all. I was half asleep."

Lucy didn't this. Not at all. "If he turns up, can you let me know?"

"Sure. Why do you want him so bad?"

"I need him for a séance," Lucy lied. In her own room, she checked under her bed, but Chucky was not there. She checked under Lynn's bed too.

"What are you doing?" Lynn asked.

"Looking for something."

"What?"

"My pen."

"I haven't seen it."

"I didn't say you had."

Lucy got back to her feet. The doll could be anywhere; behind a bookcase, in a corner, under a dresser...

That night, she lie awake in bed, listening to the house.

She did not hear Chucky crawl through the doggy door and cross the kitchen, his muddy shoes scraping against the linoleum floor; she did not hear him silently climbing the stairs, the amulet clutched in his hands.

At the top of the stairs, he paused and listened, hearing only the central heating system kicking on. He was pretty sure the boy's room was at the end of the hall; he crept to the door and looked up. Did the little faggot live in a closet? How appropriate!

Standing on his tiptoes, Chucky turned the knob and pushed the door open. He paused, heard snoring, and slipped in, shutting the door behind him. He went over to the bed, climbed on, and crawled onto the boy's chest. He stirred and muttered, smacking his lips. Chucky removed the knife from his overalls and held it to the kid's throat; the kid let out a snort but didn't wake. Heavy sleeper, eh? Enjoy, you little bastard, 'cuz you're not waking up.

Chucky tittered. Holding the amulet in one hand, he placed his other hand on the boy's forehead. Lowly, he uttered the sacred and arcane incantation:

" _Ade due damballa.  
_

 _Give me the power, I beg of you._

 _Leveau mercier du bois chaloitte.  
Secoise entienne mais pois de morte.  
Morteisma lieu de vocuier de mieu vochette_..."

Outside, dark clouds gathered in the sky. Thunder rolled, and lightning flashed.

" _Ade due damballa.  
_

 _Give me the power, I beg of you..."_

The boy winced and stirred. Chucky brought the knife up to complete the ritual, but froze when the knob rattled. _Goddamn it!_

Panicking, he shoved the amulet into his pocket, threw the knife between the bed and the wall, and rolled off of the boy, landing next to him just as the door opened.

" _Lincoln?"_ a voice hissed.

Chucky didn't move. Go away, bitch, go away!

" _Lincoln!"_

The intruder pushed the door open and came in, clicking on a flashlight and sweeping the room. When the beam fell on Chucky, it froze.

" _There you are."_

The flashlight jiggled, and Chucky caught a flash of a pale face framed in black hair before he was picked up and carried away. Shit.

The girl took him into a room, closed the door, and sat him on a bed. She sat across from him and leaned close, her bangs covering her eyes. "I know who you are," she said lowly. "And I think I know what you were doing in there."

Chucky didn't reply; he only smiled.

"Charles Lee Ray."

Chucky didn't move. She noticed the chain sticking out of his pocket, and pulled it out. A metal disk with red stone in its center. Smooth. Cold. It felt strange in Lucy's hand, almost like...it was alive.

Holding onto it, she got up and grabbed Chucky, sticking him under her arm. In the living room, she turned the light on and went over to the fireplace. She turned the value, and a jet of gas ignited. She sat the doll down, opened the grate, and turned just as a fire poker arched through the air; it caught her in the side of the head and she went down with a tiny gasp.

"You stupid fucking bitch," Chucky said. Lucy was dazed, the world spinning around her. "You wanna fuck with me?" He brought the poker down across her back, and she cried out. He climbed onto her shoulders and brought the length of the poker across her throat, pulling back as hard as she could. She choked, her fingers grasping at the tool. "Nothing to say now, you smart mouth cunt? _Doll_ got your tongue?"

Summoning all her energy, Lucy rolled onto her back, pinning Chucky to the floor. He dropped the fire poker, and Lucy jumped to her feet, her heart racing and her head aching. Chucky whipped a switch blade out of his pocket and flicked it open. "Come on, little girl," he said, "show Chucky what you got." He took a step forward, and she bent down, grabbing the fire poker. "Bitch," he growled, throwing himself at her. She brought the poker across, striking him in the head and knocking him down. She threw it aside and started to run.

"You forgot something!" Chucky yelled. Lucy threw a glance over her shoulder just as it threw the knife: It tumbled end over end through the air in slow motion. When the blade sank into her back, she cried out and fell to her knees.

"You think you're _so_ smart, huh?" Chucky asked as he picked up the fire poker. He slapped it against his palm. "'I know who you are, Charles Lee Ray.;" He laughed. Lucy swayed on her knees, trying to work up the energy for a scream. "You don't know shit, you Elvira looking slut."

The fire poker crashed into her head, and Lucy Loud knew no more.

The amulet was still in her hand...


	7. Plan B

Lynn was the one who found her; she woke up in the middle of the night to pee, noticed Lucy wasn't in bed, and went looking for her. She was lying by the front door, a knife sticking out of her back and a fire poker sticking out of her head. Tacky blood pooled on the floor.

None of the Louds would forget the marrow-chilling scream that woke them; none would forget the sight of Lynn weeping over her sister's prone body. Detective Ed Tobin would never forget the scene when he arrived; he'd worked many homicide cases in his twenty years, but never had he seen such brutality on a child. It turned his stomach.

Worse...he suspected it was someone in the house. His reached this conclusion on the basis that there were no signs of forced entry. The doors were locked, the windows were locked...the only way to get it was a doggy door in the kitchen, but it was only big enough to allow the Loud family's dog access, and he wasn't very big. In other words, there was no way someone could have gotten in, meaning it had to be one of the Louds.

But who?

The parents were beside themselves with grief, as were all the siblings, or so it seemed. In the days after the murder, he questioned each one separately. To a one, their eyes were red and haunted, their voices low and broken; one had to either be lying (and doing it damn well) or so regretful that their grief was actually genuine. In two decades on the force, however, Tobin had learned the difference between the many shades of grief. Guilt grief was obvious, tinged with remorse and didn't stand up well to questioning. All of the Louds checked out.

Which bothered him.

Today, October 19, Tobin was sitting at his desk and looking at the strange necklace he'd pried from Lucy's hand. It was a metal medialon with a red stone on a sliver chain. It felt slick and _wrong_ , somehow, though Tobin couldn't say why. A cyber search revealed that it was called "The Amulet of Shango," a voodoo symbol that supposedly acted as a conduit through which the user could channel the power of strange gods. Sighing, he looked again at the printout of Lucy Loud's internet search history.

The most recent were:

Amulet of Shango

Voodoo rituals

Charles Lee Ray

Lakeshore Strangler

Chucky Good Guy Doll

Chucky Doll.

At first, he suspected that Lucy may have met a predator online, thinking he was someone else, and let him in herself. So far, they'd found no evidence that that was even remotely possible.

Charles Lee Ray.

Tobin wasn't familiar with the name until he Googled it himself. Charles "Chucky" Lee Ray was a serial killer/voodoo practitioner who killed a bunch of people in Chicago during the 1970s and 80s before being gunned down by police in 1988.

The "Chucky Doll" searches were downright creepy. Something about a doll coming to life (possessed, some said, by Ray's spirit) and killing a bunch of people while trying to possess their bodies. The story had all the markings of an internet creepypasta, but for some reason, it piqued Tobin's interest. He asked several of the Louds about Lucy mentioning a doll called Chucky, and Lincoln Loud, the family's sole son, mentioned his sister, Luan, having a doll named Chucky.

"I bought him from the thrift store," Luan said under questioning.

"Which one?"

She thought for a minute. "The one on the corner of Main and Pine."

When Tobin heard that, his heckles went up. That was the one where the owner was stabbed to death the night Lucy Loud was killed.

That made Luan Loud his primary suspect.

She had the means and the opportunity, but what about motive? By all accounts, she and her sister were close. No one reported any arguments before the murder, no bad blood. In fact, the only recent interaction they had that stood out to someone was when Lucy asked to borrow Luan's Chucky doll.

Strange. Strange indeed.

Unbeknownst to Tobin, Lucy Loud's funeral was being held across town at St. Anthony's. Her family occupied the first three pews, many of them crying, others staring dazedly ahead as the priest conducted the ceremony. Luan sat next to her brother, her arm around his shoulder; he wept into her chest while she fought back tears of her own. She had to be strong. For Lincoln. For the others.

Later, after the graveside service, she sat on her bed, her arms crossed and a chill pervading her very being. The atmosphere in the house was dark and tense, so oppressive that she could barely breathe.

Shivering, she got up, stripped out of her coat, and went to the closet. As she hung it on the rack, she looked at the deserted corner where Chucky had fallen. He was still among the missing, and Luan hoped to God he stayed that way; she didn't like him. He _was_ creepy.

The back of her neck pricked, and she turned, expecting to find someone watching her. No one was there.

She did not see the blue eyes peering from the vent above her bed. In the vent, Chucky watched her close the door, look nervously around, and leave the room. He picked up the pistol he'd found in the parents' closet and crawled to the next grate. The two oldest girls were sitting on their beds, looking glum. Aw, do you miss your sister? Don't worry. You'll see her soon enough.

It had been nearly a week since he killed the little goth bitch. The cops had the amulet and he was waiting _real_ patiently for them to give it back, but it didn't look like it was going to go down that way. Oh well. Plan B.

Chucky laughed. Plan B was going to be fun.


	8. Hostage Situation

They ate dinner in silence, the only sound the scraping of forks against plates. Luan wanted to say something, anything, to break the deafening quiet, but her mind could not form words. They buried Lucy that morning. What _could_ she say? What could she _do_? Crack a joke to lighten the mood? No, that seemed grotesque. Ask how Lincoln was doing in math class? How Lynn was doing in football? All so superficial. None of it mattered.

She sighed sadly and pushed her food around her plate for a minute. "Can I be excused?" she asked barely above a whisper. Her parents both looked up at her, neither of them making eye contact with her. "Sure," dad said.

Without another word, she got up, scraped her leftovers into the trash, and put her plate in the sink. The walk to the bottom of the stairs was taxing. By the time she reached them, she was exhausted, and just wanted to crawl into bed, and maybe cry.

In her room, she snapped the light on, and jumped when she saw Chucky sitting in the middle of her bed.

He wasn't there when she left; and she was the last one downstairs, so no one could have sat him there as a prank. Not that anyone was in a pranking mood.

Luan's heart was racing. "Where are _you_ doing here?" she asked between breaths. The doll simply smiled that same idiot's smile. For some reason, that made her mad. She went over to it and snatched it up. " _What are you doing here?"_

She didn't see the gun until it was jammed under her chin. "Waiting for you," Chucky said, his voice much different from the one you heard when you pulled his cord. He grinned. "How was the funeral?"

Luan didn't reply. Couldn't reply.

"Now put me down," Chucky commanded, "on the floor."

Luan did as she was told. Waving the gun toward the hall, Chucky said, "Why don't you introduce me to everyone else. Especially your brother. I have the feeling he and I are going to get very close." He laughed.

"W-What are you?" Luan asked.

"Don't ask fucking questions," Chucky said, jabbing the gun at her. "Now take me downstairs or I'll blow your fucking head off."

Luan nodded. "Okay, okay."

She went down the stairs. Chucky followed. "Nice and slow," he said, "don't do anything stupid."

In the living room, he grabbed hold of her skirt and stuck the gun against her leg. She shivered at the cold feeling of it. Tugging at her, Chucky led her into the dining room.

"Well, well, well," Chucky said as mom and dad looked up, "what do we have here? Enjoying your dinner, assholes?"

The blood drained from dad's face. Lori looked up, her eyes widening. Everyone turned to see, their reactions just as shocked as their parents' and older sister's.

"I want all of you in the living room _now_ , or I'm going to start shooting." He yanked Luan's skirt, and led her into the living room. Moments later, the rest of the Louds filed in. The little one with glasses gaped at him like he was some new species of bug, which pissed him off. "Take a picture, four eyes, it lasts longer."

The Louds bunched together on the sofa, and Chucky took a headcount. "Eleven, twelve...where's thirteen?" He slapped his head in faux frustration. "Right. I already killed thirteen." He laughed as horror ran through the faces of his victims.

"Luan, go sit with your family," Chucky said, letting go of her skirt. For a moment she was rooted in place, then he pistol whipped her knee, and she unfroze. She squeezed in next to her mother, who took her in her arms.

"See," Chucky said, beginning to pace, "I didn't want to do it this way. I said 'Chucky, you gotta play it cool.' But _noo-ooo_. Little miss dark-as-night wanted to play Nancy Drew, so here we are."

"W-What do you want from us?" the father asked. His arm was protectively around his wife and one of his daughters.

"Actually, daddy-o, what I want from _you_ is very simple," Chucky said.

"What?"

"Make a phone call."

"A phone call?"

"Yeah, to that detective, what's his name?"

"Tobin?"

"Yeah," Chucky said, "that's the one. I want you to call him up and tell him you want your daughter's necklace back."

"Necklace?" mom asked.

"The one she had in her hand when they found her. Tell them it's very special and you want it back. In fact, tell him to bring it here."

No one recognized the necklace Lucy was clutching, though it certainly looked like something she would own, if not necessarily wear.

"You do that," Chucky said, spreading his arms, "and I'll leave. If you don't..."

He aimed the gun at the oldest girl's bare leg and pulled the trigger: The report was deafening. The bullet struck her, and she screamed. Everyone else yelped and yelled; Chucky laughed.

"Okay, okay!" daddy said, holding up his hands, his face wan. "I'll do it. See? I'm picking up the phone right now."

He picked the cordless phone off the end table and dialed. Lori was whimpering while Lisa pressed a pillow over the wound; Leni held Lori's head to her chest, trying her best to comfort her.

"Yes," dad said, "I-I'd like to speak to Detective Tobin please. It's very urgent." He waited a moment, then said, "Yes, I'll hold."

Lori hissed and sobbed.

"Shut that fucking bitch up," Chucky said, "or I'll do it myself."

"Yes, hi, Detective, it's Lynn Loud Sr. I just wanted to ask you something." Dad paused for a moment, nodded, then went on, "I was wondering if we could have that necklace back. The one you found on...on Lucy."

For a minute, pop listened. "It's very special, and we'd like to have it back. Could you possibly bring it here?"

For a moment his expression was blank, then look of relief crossed his face. "Yes, that would be wonderful, thank you so much. Bye."

He hung the phone up. "He was just about to come here anyway. He said he'll bring it."

"Good," Chucky said. He climbed up onto the coffee table and sat down, keeping the gun trained on the crowd. "How about a game? Do you kids like games?"

No one spoke. No one even _looked_ at him. "How about...I spy? I'll start us off. I spy, with my little eye, something red. Any guesses?" He looked around. He'd forgotten how fun taking hostages could be. "Anyone? It's your sister's gunshot wound!" He slapped his knee and laughed so hard he cried. He wiped his eye and looked at Luan, whose face was drawn. "Sorry for the _cheap shot_ , I don't usually go for _low blows_." He laughed again, swaying back and forth. "This is kind of fun. I was too quick to judge your senseof humor, Luan. I guess you could say I _jumped the gun_."

Luan looked down, tears sliding down her cheeks.

"How does it feel, you metal mouth bitch? Is it all still _pun_ and games? Hey, I have a joke for you. What looks like a beaver and sucks at comedy? You!"

Lynn moved, and Chucky spun around and trained the gun on her. The color drained from her face. "Try me. This is one fucking ball you _won't_ catch." He looked at all the Louds. "Anyone else moves, they're dead."

Lincoln had been silent all through this, his knees drawn up to his chest. He cried silently, and Chucky watched him with disgust. "Man up, will you, kid?"

"Leave him alone," Luan said.

Chucky pointed the gun at her. "Excuse me?"

She looked down.

"I didn't hear you, sweetie, and I don't want to go off _half cocked_. Make a _shot_ in the dark. You know?"

He tittered. "I'm having a _blast_. What about you guys?"

Lori's eyes were rolling into the back of her head. "She's losing consciousness," Lisa said worriedly. "The bleeding's getting worse."

"Can you do anything for her?" mom asked, her voice breaking.

"Not at the moment," Lisa replied, and looked at Chucky. "I didn't bring a medical kit to dinner."

"Please, Mr. Chucky," dad begged, "let Lisa go get what she needs to help Lori."

Chucky thought for a moment. If he let the bitch bleed out, the others might rise up against him, and he didn't have enough ammo to take twelve people down. "Alright," he said, and looked at Lisa, "but if you're not back in three minutes, I'm going to blow someone's head off."

"Understood," Lisa said. She hopped off the couch and rushed up the stairs. In her room, she snapped on her light, and something spoke to her.

" _Lisa,"_ it said, _"it's me, Lucy..."_

* * *

Lisa, her face white, had just finished with Lori when a knock came at the door. Everyone turned to look, including Chucky.

"Less than thirty minutes," he said, "I guess it isn't free." He pointed the gun at Lola. "Fairy princess, come here."

Lola's eyes widened.

"I'm not gonna bite, come here."

 _Knock-knock-knock_

Chucky cocked the gun. _"Now."_

Lola got up and came to him the way a skittish dog would come to an abusive master. "Sit," Chucky said, waving the gun at the table. Lola did. "Now I want you to put your arm around me like I'm your favorite dolly. Can you do that for Uncle Chucky?"

The little girl nodded, and put her arm around him. He jabbed the gun into her side. She was between him and the door; Tobin wouldn't see until it was too late.

"Answer the door," Chucky said.

Dad got up and went to the door, pausing with his hand on the knob to take a deep breath before opening it.

"Hi," he said warmly. Chucky saw a tall, thin man with curly blonde hair standing on the step. He was wearing a long brown coat.

"Good evening, Mr. Loud," Tobin said.

For a minute dad said nothing and made no move to step aside. "Come in," he finally said.

"Thanks," Tobin said, raising an eyebrow. The rest of the Louds were clustered on the couch, save for the little girl sitting on the coffee table with her doll. They all looked at him, and he saw something in their faces: Fear.

Something was wrong.

Tobin reached for his gun.

"Uh, uh, uh," someone said.

Tobin froze. He scanned the room, but didn't see anybody.

"Here."

Tobin looked at the doll, his jaw dropping as it brought up a pistol. The little girl next to him started to cry.

 _Impossible,_ he thought.

Before his very eyes, the doll jammed the gun against the side of the little girl's head. "Put your gun on the floor and kick it over, or JonBenet dies."

For a moment Tobin couldn't move; the surrealistic nature of the encounter rendered him dumb.

" _Now!"_

Tobin pulled his gun out, bent down, and dropped it onto the floor. Standing straight, he kicked it over, a rush of self-loathing coloring his cheeks.

"Give me the gun, Luan," the doll said.

Like a puppet on a string, Luan bent over, picked up the gun, and handed it to Chucky. He held both of them up, one pointed at Tobin and one pointed into the gathering of Louds. "Now," Chucky said to Tobin, "you have something that belongs to me."

"What's that?" Tobin asked, his voice steady.

"My amulet."

Tobin reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the amulet. "So it's all true. You're Charles Lee Ray."

"You got me, officer," Chucky said. "Now give the amulet to Luan."

Tobin held up the amulet and looked at it. He wanted to resist, wanted to knock Chucky's goddamn head off, but couldn't; one of those kids would wind up dead.

Chewing his lip, Tobin sighed and gave the amulet to Luan, who, without being told, sat it next to Chucky.

A tiny grin spread across the doll's face. He aimed the gun at Tobin and pulled the trigger: The shot struck high in his chest, piercing his lungs. The girls screamed and cried as he fell, his life slowly draining away.

"They say never shoot the messenger," Chucky said, "but fuck that. I win!"

He sat one of the guns down and reached for the amulet.

"No, you don't," a familiar voice spoke, staying Chucky's hand. Everyone turned to look; Lynn gasped and Luan uttered a strangled cry.

Chucky looked up. A doll with a bow tie stood on the bottom step, a knife in its hand. It wasn't a doll, actually; it was a ventriloquist's dummy.

"Who the fuck is this guy?"

"Lucy Loud," the doll said, and took a step forward.

Realization dawned on Chucky then. "You were holding the amulet when you died," he said. "And you transferred your soul." His eyes narrowed. "How? You weren't even touching that dummy."

"Who said your amulet had anything to do with it?" The Lucy thing asked, and started forward.

Chucky aimed and opened fire: Rounds crashed into the dummy, tearing chunks and splinters of wood from its frame. The dummy jerked left and right, but didn't fall. When the gun emitted only clicks, Chucky sat it down and picked up the other.

"Too chicken to fight me like a man?" Lucy asked.

"One more move and I'll..."

Chucky turned just as Luan's fist crashed into his face. The gun flew out of his hand and hit the floor with a thump. Chucky teetered and fell backwards off the coffee table. He was up in a flash, the razor in his hand. Luan stood on the other side of the table, a wild look in her eyes. "Come on, bitch," Chucky breathed, holding the knife up.

Dad got up from the couch and started ushering the kids away.

"Hey!" Chucky yelled, shaking with impotent rage. He ducked under the table and lashed out with the knife. Luan was too slow. The blade rent her ankle, and she cried out, falling back onto the couch, where Lori still lay, Lisa by her side, refusing to leave.

Chucky crawled out and stood. Lucy was coming at him, the knife raised. Thinking fast, he threw up his left arm to block, and then brought the razor around, jabbing Lucy in the head with a dull, wooden _thunk_ which jolted his arm.

She laughed.

"You fucking bitch!" He threw himself at her and knocked her to the floor, her arms flying back. He grabbed the wrist of her knife hand and pinned it. He pulled his fist back and punched Lucy square in the face. Pain enveloped his hand, "Goddamn it!" he screamed.

Lucy laughed again, and Chucky shook. "You..." he started, but Luan cut him off.

"Stop!"

He looked over his shoulder, his heart dropping. She clutched the gun in both hands. It shook. For a moment he was frozen in indecision. If he threw himself at her, he could probably get close enough to strike before she...

Lucy slapped him with her free hand, the shock of it unbalancing him just enough to break his grip on her knife hand. She rolled him off and brought the knife down; the tip pierced his chest, and he screamed.

"Luan!" Lucy called. "The fireplace!"

 _No. Not again._

Growling, Chucky grabbed Lucy by the neck and shook; her head flopped back and forth. "You fucking goddamn stinking no good cock sucking asshole motherfucker!" The motion was so violent that her head came off and smacked him in the face. He stopped, shocked, and lay there for a moment. Finally he laughed.

"Bad time to _lose your head!"_ He shoved her off and grabbed the handle of the knife. Blood oozed.

Suddenly, he was wrenched up by his hair and turned around. A fire burned in the hearth, and his stomach twisted. "Hey, no!" he cried, kicking his legs. He'd been burned before. The pain was _excruciating_.

"No!"

He flung his arms, but the hearth drew nearer.

"Burn in hell," Luan growled and flung him. For a brief, terrible minute, he was airborne. Then he came down, landing admist the flames, his little mime outfit going up. Flames licked his flesh.

He screamed and struggled to get his footing. Luan's face appeared. She was closing the grate. "You know what they say, Chuck; it's better to _burn out_ than fade away."

The last thing Chucky heard, aside from his own screams and the sound of his flesh sizzling, was Luan Loud's mocking laughter.


	9. Tobin Comes Back

Luan stood over the headless body of Mr. Coconuts, her hands trembling. Her family was gathered in the kitchen, and when Chucky's death cries stopped, they cautiously came back.

"God, what are we going to do?" mom worried. "What are we going to _say?_ That a demon possessed doll did this?"

Licking her lips, Luan picked him up. "Lucy?" she asked.

There was no reply.

She got down on her knees and looked under the coffee table, but did not see the head. She looked under the couch next, and it was there, in the far corner. She flattened against the floor and strained, finally hooking it with her fingers. She brought it out and sat up. His smile was painted, frozen.

"Lucy?" she asked again.

Her sister's spirit was gone.

Luan sighed and looked up at her family. She started to speak, but Leni pointing and screaming stopped her. Heart rocketing into her chest, she turned just as Detective Tobin got to his feet. Blood stained his shirt. He tried to speak, his lips trembling, then he closed them. He staggered to the door, moving like a man unfamiliar with his own body, and fell against it.

"Detective Tobin?" dad asked, worriedly.

Tobin jerkily turned and held his hand to his chest. Luan looked into his eyes, and saw a flicker of emotion,

"It's Lucy!" she said, getting to her feet.

Tobin nodded creakily and spoke, his voice raspy. "I love you guys." He then turned, opened the door, and stumbled into the night. Luan followed. "Lucy! Where are you going? Come back!"

The wail of an approaching ambulance filled the night. Lucy-Tobin shambled to Tobin's Crown Victoria and got in. "Lucy! Wait!" Luan called, tears sliding down her cheeks.

With a squeal of rubber, the car took off like a rocket, slamming into someone's trashcans. Moments later, the ambulance arrived.

Luan understood. She whipped around and flew back into the house. "Dad...tell them Lana was playing with your gun and accidentally shot Lori."

Dad blinked. "What?"

"Just do it."

The paramedics came through the door. They were just wheeling Lori out on a stretcher when an explosion rose in the distance; everyone flinched.

"What the hell was _that_?" one of the paramedics asked.

"I dunno," the other replied, "but you better call it in."

Orange light beat against the night sky in the east. It was Lucy's way of helping her family one last time.

A good dozen people saw Detective Tobin's car accelerate down Oak Street, hitting almost 90 miles per hour before slamming into the gas pumps in front of Flip's Food and Fuel. Even more saw the explosion: Windows were blown out, things fell from walls. When they finally put the fire out, there was nothing left of Tobin; they didn't even find the bullets. Before crashing, Lucy used Tobin's fingers to dig them out and toss them out the window.

Lori got better. Dad was fined and his gun was taken away. Lana had to go to counseling, and everyone in the Loud house had nightmares for months, but it was so much better than it could have been.

To this day, Luan keeps Mr. Coconuts on her dresser, his head taped to his body, hoping that one day, Lucy will come back...


End file.
